Daughter of the Last King, page 10
part #1 of Conquest I Series
I felt furious at his words, that I, a royal daughter, should be bartered for in public by this younger son of a nobleman. His desperate need to compete with the successes of his older brothers in marrying rich heiresses, and hang on to his gains in Deheubarth, was evident.
‘The king has said no, for now,’ FitzHamon told him in a firm, cold voice. ‘He may relent in time, or you may look elsewhere.’
I kept my eyes down, but I felt Arnulf’s gaze on me. ‘She is my prize. I took her.’ He was beginning to slur his words, his tongue coated with wine.
‘She is the king’s ward. Do you plan to gainsay the king?’ asked FitzHamon. His voice was soft, but there was threat in his calmness, and everyone fell silent to hear Arnulf’s response. I lifted my head and saw Sybil was looking with anxiety to her youngest and dearest brother.
‘Of course not, FitzHamon. That is not my meaning.’ Arnulf subsided, leaning back in his chair and no more was said on the subject, but he continued to stare at me, making me uncomfortable.
Agnes and Almodis rose to retire and passed behind me. ‘That one will have you,’ Lady Agnes leant down and whispered in my ear, but I had decided by now to ignore whatever she said. Yet I looked at Arnulf with dread and wondered if Agnes’ life might be my fate: if I could not love him, would I have to marry a man I hated like her, to keep my affections and loyalties covert for the rest of my life, to live with a smile on my face amidst the conquerors who had murdered and displaced my kin.
‘How do you like it here in Cardiff, sister?’ Roger asked loudly, deliberately shifting the direction of the conversation.
‘It rains constantly. My gardens writhe with fat, black slugs and the winds are over-boisterous. In the winter, the clouds are almost continual, but at least the air is healthy,’ Sybil told him, laughing.
Go back to your own lands then, I thought, and good riddance. I decided to excuse myself from the table and leave the hall, following after Agnes and Almodis.
‘Sleep well, my beautiful Nest,’ Arnulf murmured to me as I rose. ‘I hope you have not taken any distress at our conversation here?’
‘Goodnight, lord,’ I said, making no response to his question.
The next morning, I sat close to the window at my needlework in Sybil’s chamber. Agnes, Almodis, Sybil and Amelina were my companions. I observed that Roger had many reasons to be cheerful. Almodis’ hair was golden, and she wore an expensive gown of pale blue and white textile, edged with gold embroidery. Sybil shifted with envy in her chair every time Almodis mentioned ‘my little son’. Almodis played tenderly with Mabel and I joined her. I had grown fond of the child, in the gulf left by the loss of my own younger siblings.
‘Fetch more wine for us, Nest,’ Sybil said in her abrupt way.
I looked at her in surprise. Why did she order me and not Amelina to this task?
‘Yes, you,’ she said. ‘You have legs.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ I said meekly, determining to make what hay I could during my freedom from her surveillance. Amelina told me later that Sybil meant nothing by it and I should not take insult. ‘She does show off a bit in company,’ she said.
I took what I thought of as my secret route to the pantry, down the passageway from Sybil’s chamber, past my room and through Master Richard’s empty room (excepting his locusts), down the broken narrow back stairs that nobody was supposed to use. I had ventured exploring down the staircase several times before when Master Richard left me alone and found that since I was slender and surefooted, I could edge myself fairly easily around the broken, splintered part with its gaping, jagged edges above a dark, deep fall to the undercroft that ran beneath the hall. I thought of the broken staircase as my respite from them all. Nobody knew where they could find me when I lingered in its cool embrace and inhaled its earthy, damp smell of neglect. Besides, it meant I could get to the buttery, off the hall, without passing one of the men on guard at the main stairway who I did not like. He always tried to make a mock grab at me when I passed, growling like a bear. Although he pretended it was a jest, I felt he would be happy to truly grip me and rub his grubby hands over me if he could. I had just sidled past the broken steps and was about to skip down the rest when voices came from the buttery beneath Master Richard’s room. I put my foot down carefully, soundlessly, on the next step, which brought me to the edge of the doorway that let into that room. To hear, I had to stand hugging the wall very close to the doorway.
‘Duke Robert has delivered an ultimatum, and is taking war to King William.’ It was Hugh de Montgomery’s voice.
‘We will be ready to support him.’ I recognised Neufmarché as his companion. ‘Will all your brothers rally to us? Including Bellême?’
‘Aye, all,’ said Hugh. ‘It was the oath my father swore to the Conqueror, to defend the rights of his oldest son, and it is the oath we have sworn, each one of us, to our father. Let’s hope Duke Robert does a better job this time than the ham-fisted invasion in eighty-eight that nearly cost us all so dearly.’
So they were plotting against their King William again. I could tell FitzHamon but I did not like the idea of helping any of them. Hugh and Neufmarché moved out of the room and I passed into the buttery thoughtfully. Ten minutes later, I was returning up the steps again, a wine jug balanced in both hands. At the top of the broken stairway, I drew back quickly, realising Master Richard’s room was occupied now and was the scene of another secret exchange. Master Richard was reporting on the household to FitzHamon. ‘They are in treasonous collusion with Duke Robert,’ he said. ‘Another rebellion is planned in support of the duke and they are all of them in it up to their necks, the Montgomerys.’
‘Do you have written evidence of this?’
‘I do.’ I heard a rustle of papers.
‘Is my wife involved?’
I set the wine jug down, meaning to inch a little closer to the doorway and hear Master Richard’s answer, but I misjudged the uneven surface of the step. The jug teetered and then fell silently, for a moment, with its contents, down into the deep hole where the staircase was broken, before finally striking a step and shattering into wine-stained fragments. The sound of its striking and shattering was loud to me and I knew they must have heard something in the room. Opposite me was a narrow recessed window that gave light onto the stairway. Swiftly I stepped into its embrasure, pulling my skirts close around me, leaning in hard against the wall.
‘Pigeons!’ came Master Richard’s voice. From the sound of it, his head was poking into the staircase aperture above me. I held my breath. Could he see the edge of my skirt or arm? It was dark if you looked down into the staircase from the brightly lit room. No more sounds came and after waiting for five minutes, I crept up to the doorway and heard nothing. The room was empty, and I dashed across it and back to Sybil’s chamber, my heart pounding. So there was no need for me to tell tales since Master Richard was already doing so himself. In any case, I felt torn by my growing affection for Sybil. Did she know her husband set spies on her? Should I tell the tale to her? Perhaps she had her own counter-spies and was aware of Master Richard’s treachery. ‘Keep your enemies close,’ she said often. I had my own very close.
When I returned to the room, Sybil was flabbergasted that I had ‘forgotten’ to get the wine. ‘It’s what you went for, you idiot,’ she said, humiliating me in front of Countess Almodis and Lady Agnes. I knew her well enough by now to realise this was merely her blunt manner and not a deliberate intent to wound me, but I saw Agnes smirk at it.
‘I will go. Don’t worry yourself,’ said Amelina, getting up and weaving her needle carefully in place for her return.
Most of our visitors, with the exceptions of FitzHamon, Arnulf and Gerald, left a few days later, and the castle returned to something like its usual rhythms and capacities. I could discern little affection between Lady Sybil and her lord. I heard him at her in the evenings in the chamber next to mine, but he did not stay through the night with her, always rising after his gruntings and returning to sleep in the hall below with the other men. There was scant speech between them. Sybil’s marriage seemed little better than the couplings of dumb animals in a barn. FitzHamon was uninterested in Mabel. He merely stared at the baby when Sybil dandled her on his knee. ‘Have you considered a husband for her?’ he asked.
‘Not so far, my lord. She is young, not walking yet.’
‘Aye, well, we will speak of it next time I’m here. She needs to be betrothed before too long, since she stands as my heir for now, till you quicken with a boy. We will gift the abbey at Tewkesbury and ask the monks to pray for your conception of our son,’ he told Sybil, and she nodded meekly at her failure. Before he left, she was vomiting again in the mornings and I prayed she would be able to satisfy him with a boy this time.
I considered sending another message to Cadwgan, telling him the Montgomerys and Neufmarché conspired against King William, intending to support Duke Robert’s invasion. Yet I felt reluctant to send Amelina again into Owain’s company. I did not like the way she spoke of him, with an air of ownership. It seemed clear something had happened between them.
In the morning, I rose early and stood waiting in the chilly air by the window watching the bailey. Before long I saw Gerald’s fair head emerge below me from the hall door and he made toward the stables. I moved swiftly down the passageway, down the stairs to the hall and sidled out into the bailey and then into the stables close to where I knew his horse had been housed so that neither his men, nor the few servants of the household already up, should see me there. ‘Gerald!’ I hissed in a low whisper, and his horse stomped and blew through its nostrils at my unexpected intervention. Gerald’s face appeared around the horse’s head, staring quizzically at me. ‘Lady Nest? Are you …’
Overnight, I had wondered whether it might be my best option to marry Arnulf. At least then I could take my rightful place as lady of Deheubarth, chatelaine of Pembroke Castle and the rest of my father’s llys that Arnulf held. At least I could do some good for my people then. ‘Sir Gerald, I would have a word with you. It’s a terrible secret though …’
He moved swiftly around the horse and stood close to me. He put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I could feel the heat of his hand through my cloak that only covered my thin nightshift since I had not dared to dress in case I disturbed one of the female guests or Amelina and they wondered why I was up and what I was about so early. ‘What is it, lady? You can trust me. As far as I am able, I will assist you.’
I swallowed and looked up at him. I was not sure what I was about, but I needed to trust somebody. ‘It’s Belmeis,’ I said.
A look of fury began to spread across his face. ‘He has not offered you …’
‘No, no!’ I gripped his hand to regain his attention away from such a thought. ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘Nothing like that. I am treated well here.’ Did I dare? ‘He is spying on the Montgomerys. For FitzHamon. Despite his trusted role in Lady Sybil’s household, he passes on damning information on her family.’
Gerald stared at me for a moment with his mouth open. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I am with him learning my letters every day and he is undertaking his correspondences there. I … I accidentally read some of his papers.’
Gerald grinned and looked impressed.
I blushed. ‘And I heard him talking with FitzHamon. I fear they mean to harm Lady Sybil and your lord.’
He looked at me for a long moment. ‘And do you care if they harm Lord Arnulf?’
My blush deepened, and I stammered, ‘No … I … I am fond of Lady Sybil. She is good to me.’
He looked earnestly at my face a little longer. ‘Thank you for confiding in me, Lady Nest. I will do what I can to see that no harm comes to Lady Sybil,’ he hesitated, ‘or her brother Arnulf from this. You did the right thing, Nest. But please, promise me, you won’t take any risks. I couldn’t bear to see harm come to you.’
‘I promise you. Thank you.’
He kissed my fingers, and I felt the softness of his mouth against my skin. ‘Go back quickly before you are missed. You must not be seen here like this,’ he told me.
* * *
from The Copybook of Sister Benedicta
* * *
Woodstock, All Saints, 1st November 1094
My dear Benedicta, I am in England again with Henry, spending our time between London and Woodstock. King William has a great new hall under construction at Westminster and I hear hammering and taste stone dust everywhere I turn. We are here, together with Hugh d’Avranches, the earl of Chester, who is called the Wolf, but is more like an old, very fat bear these days. We are in England on request from the king, with Henry acting in all but name as regent since King William has found himself absent for most of the year campaigning against Duke Robert in Normandy. I hope that war does not come too close to you, Benedicta? Let me know what is occurring there. You probably hear news of King William’s dealings before I do.
Henry is looking around him with an air of taking stock. I’ve seen this before. It’s his ‘now let’s get this mess sorted out’ manner. Doing it in the county of the Contentin was one thing, doing it in the citadel of Domfront was another, but now he is looking around thinking like that for the whole of England, Wales and Scotland. He flabbergasts me sometimes. He must think there is a strong chance he might inherit the crown, otherwise he would not waste his time considering it.
‘I counsel that best policy, Count Henry,’ Meulan told him, ‘is to keep your temper in public and draw potential enemies to your side with loving persuasion and generous promises that can afterwards be broken.’ (What do you think of that, Benedicta?)
Meulan has been doing his best to advise William too, but the king is not exactly biddable. He seems only truly happy on the battlefield and has no real interest in the peaceable management of his realm. It’s all simply resources for war to him. This has been a long campaign in Normandy and he had need of cash to pay wages to his mercenaries and familia regis, his personal army, to fodder the horses, to pay for the ships crossing the British Sea. The king and his chancellor Ranulf Flambard recently perpetrated a shameful thing on the English people that has exasperated Henry. ‘This is the kind of thing a king is not forgiven for,’ he says, ‘that earns him rebellion and the hatred of his subjects who should give him only love.’ That’s another new thing – Henry’s philosophy of kingship that he speaks of often now.
But you want to know what was the shameful thing. Flambard summoned the English fyrd to muster at the south coast to aid the king in Normandy. This fyrd is an honourable Anglo-Saxon custom since the times even before King Alfred, where each shire, each village, will send a set number of armed men at the king’s summons. It was this fyrd that fought off the Great Viking Army under Alfred, that fought off Hardrada’s fierce Vikings in 1066 under Harald Godwinson, and that failed shortly thereafter to defend England against Henry’s father, William the Conqueror. It is a venerable and honourable tradition here that speaks of the ties between king and people, and of the people’s love for their land and willingness to die in its defence. These men, they duly came in their thousands, and Flambard took all money and moveable wealth they had about them and sent it to William in Normandy, and he sent those honourable fighting men home in destitution. Some of them had marched to the king’s aid from the far north of the kingdom and now they return begging for food and shelter. Henry says he is ashamed if this is his brother’s order and knowledge rather than an act Flambard has effected on his own cognisance. D’Avranches, Warwick and Meulan are also shocked at this mean-spirited act. Without Flambard’s knowledge, Henry sent letters to all monasteries along the major routes in England asking in the name of the king’s brother that they give aid to these humiliated travellers as they return to their shires. He has done what he can to rectify the wrong.
When Henry and King William are in company together there is a rapprochement, an affection, between them, but while William lives and thinks only for today, Henry does not forget and he looks so far forward it makes me spin sometimes. He does not forget the earlier wrongs his brother has done to him. I know how dangerous and simmering Henry’s long, long memories can be. Sometimes I watch him and think he has two or three different men lurking beneath his skin.
On a happier note, he has been spending time in Abingdon with his mistress Ansfride and their children, Richard and Juliane, who is his newest baby daughter. Henry is negotiating with King William and Edgar Aetheling to contract an honourable betrothal for himself. He wishes to marry the Anglo-Saxon princess, Matilda, but there is a competing offer from William de Warenne, earl of Surrey and the king, from everything I know of him, will be inclined to take the highest bidder, which will be the earl, I fear, for Henry is richer in brains than cash at the moment. The princess herself, I would say, is more inclined to Henry.
Write soon to tell me you are safe and about your new duties in the scriptorium. And if you have any pertinent news on those devious Montgomerys. Your loving brother Haith.
* * *
Almenêches Abbey, Normandy, Martinmas, mid-November 1094
Dearest Haith, Thank you for your letter, which reached me swiftly since there is a constant to & fro of traffic & messengers across the British Sea & throughout Normandy because King William is here warring with Duke Robert. (I have adopted ampersands now since I am a venerable scriptorium mistress.) It is good to hear of these new buildings you write of. We must commend things accomplished to the notice of our successors inspiring them with example & not lazily neglect something worthy of memory to future times. We receive God’s mercy according to our works.
King Philip of France gave Duke Robert his assistance against William, the king of the English, in the fighting in Normandy this summer & besieged Argentan close to here, but the scene of the fighting has moved off further to the north now. We succour its refugees daily – women raped, children orphaned, villagers who have no homes left to them, soldiers maimed beyond any further use in battle. They are a sorry sight & a reminder of my own good fortune in health & security, & the love of my sisters here, & of my brother.
